


Counting

by Karthur



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 00:50:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5354621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karthur/pseuds/Karthur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After awhile, Mikelo stopped counting...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Counting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [atelierjoh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/atelierjoh/gifts).



Mikleo stopped counting the months after awhile.

At first, he made sure to visit Camlann at least once a month to talk to the spot where Sorey slept. He needed to see the light of his friend oscillating down in the darkness, cleansing the malevolence below. Standing there, he would tell Sorey about things he read and people he talked to, and he always made sure to bring a soft-serve vanilla ice cream and eat it there. All while closing his eyes and sensing a conversation he felt, rather than spoke.

_“You know, seraphs don’t need to eat.”_

_“We don’t need to do a lot of things, but I still do them.”_

_“I think you like it.”_

_“Eating? Yes. You know this, and if I didn’t cook, you’d starve because you burn water.”_

_“Why should I cook when I have you around to do it? Water Seraphs better know how to make ICE cream. Know your place, Seraph Beast!”_

_“Only a human would be so naïve to think that I can only create ice!”_

Mikleo would laugh at the verbal ballet that would play out, complete with the bad puns and insults. It felt too real to be an illusion, but still he questioned if the responses were just the manifestation of his own desires. Unwilling to spend much time dwelling on the possibilities, he would turn to the light and say aloud, “I miss you. Sleep well.”

That light would brighten for a moment, and then dim a bit.  
And he would leave, only to return a month later and repeat the ritual.

* * *

Mikleo stopped counting the years after awhile.

He watched the world change and in those changes he saw Sorey. He saw people like Alicia and Sergei truly trying to bring peace to the land. He watched Rose grow into the role that Sorey had bequeathed her and he saw other squires born, ready to fight along her side. He saw the other seraphs working with the humans, and even the ever-skeptical Edna had given her blessing to a town.

All of these things made him happy, and he would tell Sorey about them when he visited his resting place. He went there, alone, every year; on anniversary of the day that Sorey found sleep.  
One of those years, some of the humans decided to build a memorial for Shepherd Sorey.  
Mikleo had to remind them—with Rose’s help—that it was not to be a grave.  
A grave was final, and Sorey was coming back.  
Some day.  
It was a promise. 

He laughed as he told that story to Sorey.

_“I told them to make sure your legs weren’t too bowed.”_

_“They’re not bowed at all!”_

_“When was the last time you looked in a mirror?”_

_“Very funny. At least I’m taller than you.”_

_“Are you still resorting to that as an insult?”_

_“Maybe.”_

_“It’s a nice statue, at any rate.”_

_“I’ll take your word for it.”_

Before departing, he closed his eyes and recalled the tender feeling of Sorey’s hand on his shoulder and the warmth of their embrace. In response, the light flickered twice, as if acknowledging the fond memories and gentle touches.

* * *

Mikleo stopped counting the decades after awhile.

The world was changing. Rose, Alisha, Sergei, and all of the humans he had known through Sorey had passed on to another life. He honored them, even if no one saw him do so, and even took up the mantle of sub-lord for another Shepherd or two. The travels distracted him, but never enough.

So, he started writing. 

He wrote the story of Sorey’s journey. He wrote of their trials, their friends, and most importantly, Sorey’s sacrifice. He spent nearly five years on it, crafting each sentence with meticulous care and being sure to keep the historical aspects accurate, rather than romanticized.

And, when he visited Sorey, he read him the entire book.  
Cover to cover. 

_“I think you exaggerated some of it, especially your own battle skills.”_

_“I figured you’d say that.”_

_“But the descriptions of the ruins were good.”_

_“Well, I did revisit some of them for accuracy.”_

_“That’s good to hear.”_

_“It’s not the same without you.”_

_“I’ll be there soon enough. I’m surprised you haven’t sprung any weird traps.”_

_“Well, let’s just say I had some close calls.”_

_“Try to stay out of trouble just a bit longer, okay?”_

_“I will. Oh, I dedicated the book to Gramps.”_

_“He would’ve liked that.”_

_“Yes, I thought so, too.”_

_“Your hair is getting long.”_

_“I like it.”_

_“I do, too.”_

That time, before he left, Mikleo said, “I love you.”  
The light enveloped the entire cavern for a long moment, bathing him in a familiar warmth, and he smiled.

* * *

Mikleo stopped counting the centuries after awhile.

The world was at peace but he found himself restless.  
So, he explored.

He went to ruins he’d seen hundreds of times and looked for something new, something hopeful. He stared at murals and statues and artifacts he’d seen before, but always made sure to walk away with a renewed sense of adventure and sometimes a different perspective. 

Rarely, he would find a site that hadn’t been disturbed and spend weeks, if not months, inside. He made it his mission to document every bit of history within the walls of these previously undiscovered ruins and delve into their depths and secrets. 

He decided to take these notes and fashion them into a book.  
A book he planned to write when he finished visiting all of the sites in the world.  
A book to read to Sorey.

But then, during one of these documenting missions, Mikleo stopped documenting.  
And he started counting again.  
Happily counting.

Because that day, was the day he started counting their time _together._


End file.
